What's in a Name?
by pinstripesonmepiratepants
Summary: Stray, Catwoman's protege, is still getting his feet wet when it comes to more challenging heists. What he thought was a big break, turns into a—perhaps—none-too-chance meeting with a familiar face. Catlad!Stray!Tim verse, with lore adjustments: this Stray's a Splicer.
1. What's in a Name?

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

 _Playing with the Stray/Catlad/Kitten AU! I've only recently discovered this marvelous creation, but have made some personal adjustments to its lore. A big Tim Drake fan, I can't grasp the idea of Tim simply abandoning the Robin/Batman legacy, finding partnership with Catwoman and turning to a life of crime. My ideal Stray is a.) named "Stray," and has Tim an escaped, early animal DNA splicing experiment of_ _Dr. Achilles Milo._

 _Tim was five years old when he escaped, having been experimented on in years before and deemed the first cat-splicing success of Dr. Milo_ _. He didn't make it far before he was found by Batman and Robin. They attempted to care for him, discover his origins, but hadn't managed to do so before he escaped them as well. He later discovered Catwoman, followed her home. Natural feline affinity aided her decision to take him in and eventually take him on as her protege. With no memory of his home or his name, it was she who named him Stray and raised him to be so, but it's only a matter of time before the past starts creeping up on him._

* * *

 **WHAT'S IN A NAME?**

* * *

Light trickled across each crisp cut edge as he rolled the diamonds in his hand, but couldn't compare to the gleam of his smile. This was the jackpot—his first in a while. Small-time jewelry store busts only held up the paycheck for so long. That, and they were too easy. No, he needed a challenge, and one finally came knocking in the form of a flimsy flyer, slapped out by a fat guy reeking of pit sweat on the corner of grease and grime. Glamorous, but Stray knew opportunity when he saw it, and was glad he snatched it up. The museum was littered with prizes, just waiting to be grabbed from glowing glass cases. The guards had been dropped, security systems handled. This had been a cake-walk. All the more reason to be suspicious.

Little hairs on the back of his neck standing on end didn't help. Tight leather wasn't enough to keep them from prickling upright, making his skin tickle. Unwelcome distractions, however slight, were not to be ignored, but certainly put a damper on things. Here he was, soaking in the dim lamp-light glow in a sea of darkness, and instinct was snuffing it out. Pride delayed a step away from the jewelry case for a slow surveillance of the museum interior. He pulled his goggles up, tugging at his cat-eared cap in the process. All part of the gimmick, but it made for great pictures if a photographer was fast enough, camera quality was good. Hard to catch a runaway cat. Try catching a thief.

Nothing. High ceilings and echoing halls didn't call back a sound. Other displays, dummies dressed like royals, hadn't moved or given any indication of doing so. Stray returned his attention to pride and glory, goggles back down, reaching through the circle he had so delicately carved in the glass after placing the diamond in his pack. Claws protruding from his gloves brushed rich velvet lining the case floor, easing a purr from his throat. This felt good. His smile crept back to life as he pinched a hefty signet ring between his fingers. Delightful. Absolutely perfect, right down to its intricate carving, embedded gems . . . its screaming flaws.

That smile of his drained right down his throat. Stray pulled the ring closer, every instinct crawling back to life as he turned the ring to expose its underbelly. No stamp. No trio of numbers or iconic symbols to indicate this ring had value— _any_ value. He grumbled, drawing the yellow ring to his teeth to clamp it between them. Not a damn scratch remained. The ring was a stunt double; _w_ _orthless_ , just like his instincts.

Stray caught the scent, but seconds too late. A shadow alighted behind him, graceful as a bird; a fitting simile. Nightwing _was_ , arguably, avian. At least, that's what the papers said. Stray hadn't the pleasure of meeting him in person, and what he did get to meet was minimal. A jawline, a peeking forehead and muscled neck stood out in the black. The rest had been swallowed by it, save the iconic blue "V" emblazoned on his chest with a predatory head. Neither of these are what bothered Stray most. Stray was caught staring, ignorant to obvious distress warping his brow, the slack in his jaw. This man was familiar. He _knew him_ somehow.

"You're predictable." Nightwing was smirking, arms crossed over his chest in a show of dominance Stray didn't take kindly to, but an appropriate response was impossible. Stray was screaming for his brow to drop, his posture to fight back with pride of its own, but he was a mewling kitten under the Nightwing's stance. Stray recognized that pose, those proud tones striding out his lips. Stray knew him. Nightwing knew it, too.

Confidence brought Nightwing a few steps closer. ". . . Remember me?"

Stray didn't know what spurred the sympathy. It was gushing out of Nightwing, crippling his solid frame into something relaxed, and again, more familiar. Stray finally willed his limbs to respond. He stepped backward, a hand catching the jewelry case to keep it from toppling. Stray did remember him, but not a man in black and blue. Stray remembered a younger face, an explosive smile behind a mask of green; a red tunic, golden cape . . . ridiculous panties.

Stray felt his lips curling. ". . . Robin?" Would that he could have summoned confidence in the question, sure as he was.

Nightwing, former Robin, nodded. "Robin," he confirmed, but glanced around his uniform as if seeing it for the first time. ". . . _Well—_ " he shrugged, smiling off the obvious. Neither of them moved afterward, letting the reality of the situation set in to the silence of the hall before either took it upon themselves to break it. Stray left that to the professional.

"It's been a while," Nightwing sighed, his smile slipping. That was a thirteen-year understatement. Guilt was the undeniable taste being left in Nightwing's mouth, Stray could tell. Whether or not Stray sympathized. . . .

"Yeah," Stray responded quietly. He pried his claws off the case, straightening his spine. He planted his feet, but realized quick some originality was in order. He was mimicking Nightwing a little too close. He fidgeted into something more careless, shifting the weight on his heels and glancing his eyes downward. They flickered back to Nightwing, fresh fire sparking in them when reality slapped him awake.

"Yes, it has," Stray reiterated. There was his confidence. Familiar or not, _hopeful_ or not, thirteen years was a long time. They were on opposite sides of the board, now. That was clear. Nightwing on one side, a red-handed Stray on the other. Where was this supposed to go?

Nightwing felt that heat, tensing back up and adding serious notes. "I see you've been busy."

Stray shrugged, mimicking Nightwing intentionally this time. ". . . _Well_ —" he laughed, tossing his pack over his shoulder, feeling the weight of all those worthless, clinking bobbles. If he couldn't laugh at himself, he'd be kicking, clawing and screaming at the sky for making such a rookie mistake, which wouldn't be attractive. He hadn't checked for fakes before breaching the cases. Too caught up in the glitz and dazzle, he hadn't inspected them with a prospector's eye or appraised them at all, only admired. He'd be hearing about this later, either from a personal pep-talk or a slap from Selina. He'd wonder which would be more damaging if he hadn't felt the latter before.

Stray stopped, the bitter bile of failure extinguishing his patience. He didn't have time for this. Nightwing and Batman had a knack for bringing in the bad guy, and making doubly sure the law got involved. The cops were on their way, if not waiting outside. This needed to end, and in as few words as possible.

Stray leveled with him. "At least I'm not getting your hopes up," he seethed through a smile. That would hurt. He waited to make sure it did, watching Nightwing's expression take the hit before Stray's grip tightened on his pack. No more holding back. All his strength sent the pack flying right at him!

Nightwing was ready for the move. His hands flew up to block, batting the goody bag aside. What he didn't expect was the immediate onset of claws. Stray leaped the space between them with inhuman ease. Nightwing was pounced, claws tapped against his armor with force enough to tear the Kevlar. The meeting would be brief. Stray knew he was no match. Nightwing had been Robin long before the costume change, putting him leagues ahead experience-wise. Stray needed a boost if he was going to get out without a scratch. In fact, he counted on one.

Attack high, drop Nightwing back, get a nice kick to send him up and out. Calculations correct, that just might work. Only one way to find out. Stray curved his back when latching onto Nightwing, making him top-heavy—heavi _er_. Nightwing's strength was impossible to underestimate through skin-tight spandex, but was brought to light, bare as bones, when he staggered. Nightwing bent with the blow, crouching to hold his stance with an inhuman ease of his own. This left an upright Nightwing balancing a bunched up Stay on his chest and shoulders. Awkward, not at all what Stray had in mind, but not a total loss.

"About time you decided to help." Another sharp comment. Just one history lesson after another. Stray jumped his boots to Nightwing's shoulders, shoving off into a leap. "Thanks for the lift!" Mid-air, he reached for his whip. Arm cocked back, the whip unfurled, aim on the rafters, but the lash was interrupted by a firm grip on his ankle. Nightwing caught him. There'd be a lashing, alright.

Stray was thrown right back down, claws frantic to catch the fall, but his head tapped the floor with a gritty _crack!_ Stray shouted in pain, feeling his teeth click together, blood filling his sinuses. Goggle glass splashed across the split tile. Nightwing didn't hesitate. Not that Stray could tell, anyway. Next he knew, Stray had a knee in his back, a hand forcing his head into the fresh indentation, and his ankle bent toward his spine. Again, not attractive. Stray writhed, a desperate attempt to wriggle free, but Nightwing wouldn't have it. He hardened his hold, stooping to Stray's ear.

" _You_ ran." Nightwing made that crystal clear, first and foremost. "Remember _that?_ " Nightwing didn't have to ask. That Stray had run was hard to forget, but it hadn't been without reason.

"We wanted to help you," Nightwing insisted—pleaded. "We _can_."

Stray felt his jaw latch tight, a growl trickling out his throat. The knife on his belt finally slipped into his palm, poised to strike. _Now_ who was hesitating?

Robin, Batman; they were the first to have ever taken him in. Memories like that can't be burned out of a man, let alone a five-year-old kid. You forget things like your first word, hilariously inappropriate things you might have said as a toddler. His life before "Stray" had been carved clean out of him, long forgotten, but the Batcave? The roar of the Batmobile, a dinosaur-sized penny, a _dinosaur_? Not in thirteen years. Not in a million years. The heroes were first to cross his path, but the idea of being placed on a new one was something Stray couldn't accept. They may not admit it, but the Dynamic Duo couldn't have possibly known what to do with something like him. So, what could they do with him now?

He was scared, confused, so he ran. Maybe for their sake as much as his own. Call him a scaredy-cat. Selina—Catwoman—named him, Stray.

Stray drove the blade into Nightwing's thigh! Turning, Stray flipped himself over and kicked out of his grasp while Nightwing shouted in alarm. He staggered away. Lucky for him, Nightwing did the same. Stray knew he could take a knife, so that Nightwing didn't push an immediate attack told Stray he stood a chance. Stray stared at him. Personal conflict was the last thing he wanted to encounter in a fight, but his demons were bound to catch up to him; especially demons like Batman and Nightwing. Nightwing stared back, seeing for the first time in years, one of those bright blue eyes flexing its slitted pupil, framed by shattered goggle glass. He had been so much smaller, then.

Bloody around the edges, tasting wounds, they both looked like idiots. Stray shook his head. "No, you can't," he said, huffing at the spray of Nightwing's blood that now dirtied his hand. His lips tried to smile again, cracking. ". . . But thank you for trying."

Stray turned away, headed for the exit with a fresh grip on his whip. No ankle-snatching this time. His mouth had run on long enough, but—classic, Robin—Nightwing's hadn't.

Nightwing grunted, holding the blade handle tight before slipping it from his skin. Blood seeped from the cut, running trails of red down his leg, but his eyes were on Stray. "We know your name," he said, but repeated for clarity. "We know your name, _Tim._ "

His sincerity was undeniable. Stray stopped in his tracks, forcing himself not to turn back. He knew Nightwing wasn't bluffing, and that's what shocked him most. _Tim_. The name resounded with him, striking him to the core, wherever memory and time had thrown it away. That _was_ his name. He felt his hands shaking as they curled into fists. His claws pricked his palms, making them bleed. A long lost name would have a long lost life attached to it.

Distant sirens were closing in. Stray heard them minutes ago, but they had come at last into Nightwing's range. Nightwing stood at attention, reaching for his grapple gun. ". . . Come get the rest," he said. There was plenty more to tell. "Whenever you're ready."

The gun fired, launching a line before it embedded in the rafters and launched him up into them. He was gone. Just another disappointment, not having the last word, to add to tonight's roster.

Stray— _Tim—_ finally urged his legs to move, whip cracking in the dark before he, too, disappeared.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 _You've survived my first FF submission. Thank you! How'd I do? Begging for more? Let me hear about it!_


	2. Repercussions

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

 _Another chapter in my modified Catlad/Stray-verse. Enjoy!_

**Language. Mild suggestive content. Nondescript nudity.

* * *

 **REPERCUSSIONS  
**

* * *

 _Bap!_ Her hand bit his cheek with the grace of a cobra, fang-like nails snatching Stray's jaw immediately afterward. Selina was displeased. What else was new? Old, was the fact she couldn't stay mad at him, frustration evident in her eyes the longer and harder she tried to stare at him. He had a lesson to learn and she was a terrible teacher. A lot of blame fell back on her shoulders every time he screwed up, self-afflicted or otherwise.

Her claws detached to add a more playful swat at his busted nose. "What happened?"

Oh, now she asks. Stray winced, thrashing his head aside to accept both hits. However delicate the latter, the pain throbbed with an unholy vengeance from his pulsing nose swollen with blood. He looked a wreck, smelled like it, too. She couldn't wait until he was comfortably nestled in, his suit peeled off and hurts attended to before dishing out the tough love. His pupils were wire-thin slits by the time he found his tongue to retaliate.

"It was a bust. Replicas. The real deals must've been swapped out." Stray tried to shrug it off, but could already feel his words falling limp. She wasn't amused. If she thought Stray had been for any reason, she had another thing coming. Thank God, she knew better.

Selina scoffed, throwing up her hands before placing them about her person in a grand display of dismay. One alighted on her hip, the other pinching her nose while she shut off the world and collected her thoughts. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe she had let the leash off too early. Maybe she was being over-protective, or maybe she couldn't give a shit. What kind of mentor was she? She had every right to question. Every time he crawled out the window and into the dark, bag in hand with that eager grin, she had to watch part of herself leave with him. Questions like these were the very reason she swore off the whole sidekick deal. It was damaging, self-punishment at its finest. But some part of her had to love it, or she wouldn't have let him crawl over her doorstep and into her arms. She only had to look at him to remember which. Every time.

Selina breathed, turning on her heels with a delicate smile. She loved having something to spoil. That was the reality of it. She sauntered back to her Stray, admiring the pride in his posture, despite the lie on his face. Her busted doll looked absolutely pathetic under that broken nose, bloodied lips. She caught his jaw again, this time turning his eyes to her own before coddling him with a pet. Her knuckles stroked up his red hot cheek, thumb brushing his brow before latching under his cap. Her other hand joined in the gesture to ease the shattered goggles off his injuries. She could feel her Stray melting under her touch, slumping against it with lazy eyes. She tossed the cap to the couch, combing his mussed up hair into place. Good as new. She rewarded his forehead with a peck, relieved she didn't need to stand on her toes to do so just yet.

"Clean up." Selina nodded toward the restroom. Stray smirked, turning away to do as she asked after nudging her hand with his head. Little twat knew she couldn't keep up a scolding.

* * *

Stray sprawled across the rest of his armchair, legs outstretched to let his skin breathe after a piping hot shower. His towel fell loose at his waist, maintaining minimal dignity in Selina's presence while she fussed in her bedroom. Frightening, how comfortable they were with one another. The last thing Stray would consider her was a lover; hardly a mother. She made it very clear early on, that was _not_ the role she would play in his life. No, their relationship was unique. Affection without attraction, care without attachment; ground rules they mutually understood. They hadn't been laid out or explained. Neither felt the need to. Natural order fell into place when and where it was due—not at all how things had been in the Batcave.

Stray couldn't help it. Try as he may, his conversation with Nightwing wasn't going anywhere. Over and over, it repeated in vivid detail at the back of his mind. He huffed, twisting onto his back. Wet strands of hair slapped his eyes, only to be swiped away in a nervous gesture. Shutting his eyes hadn't helped, either. It sent him back in time to a dark parking lot drenched in rain.

Lights from a nearby street flickering by, stretched the shadows of Batman and Robin when they first arrived on the scene. Stray . . . _Tim_ , had scampered under a car, then. He was scuffed, frightened, claws clutching bare gravel as if to seal himself in place. He'd spit and hissed at their approach, hair standing on end, but it was the obnoxious grin of sidekick, Robin, that eventually charmed him out.

Batman never did get the chance to prove himself approachable. In the months Tim spent in their care, he hadn't so much as caught a smirk out of the brooding, old statue. Tim knew when he wasn't liked, and hadn't bothered to try being so when it came to the Bat. To Batman, Tim was a hassle, made obvious by an impeccable lack of patience and _extremes_ when it came to discipline. They just wouldn't sit with a cat-boy, which the Bat couldn't understand. The whole idea was a lost cause. Tim had been so young at the time, but words like "hospital," "orphanage" and "school," were easy enough to figure out. And when Robin started to _encourage_ them. . . .

A pizza box clopped onto his stomach, dry pizza crusts scraping around inside before coming to a halt. Only then did Stray perk up, peeking his eyes open to find a grinning Selina with pizza in her teeth. "Anchovy," she assured with chew. Stray tried not to smile, throwing an arm over his eyes, but sometimes the simplest of pleasures were the most impactful. It's like she knew that night would be rough. He was grinning like an idiot until a bite was shoved in his mouth. Selina forced a piece in, but his attitude bothered her more than his appetite.

"Keepf your mood off my furnichurff." Selina mashed out words between chews while redetermining where Stray's food would sit. There was no room for her on the tiny armchair, and that wouldn't do. Climbing her bare feet onto the edge of the chair, she plucked the box off his stomach before replacing it with her bum. The box was then placed in her lap where he could reach it with ease. Content, she batted her hair off her shoulders to better inspect the left-overs, but there was the troublesome matter of Stray being useless beneath her.

She glanced at him, pushing down a heavy swallow before wiggling her ass. Mr. Moody was making her butt numb when she demanded attention. "You'll stain the leather."

Stray groaned, stretching outward again before plucking the pizza from his mouth. It'd taste good, he knew, but wouldn't be eaten so easy if that's what she wanted. He loved playing the prude.

"Tell that to the circus you sleep with." His pizza slice plopped to the floor, right on the hardwood after skimming the carpet; just to spite. A second later, he was turning over, despite her weight atop him, to curl into a ball of contentment.

She knew this game, the puss. Selina's eyes grew wild, hands immediately seizing up the pizza box to tip out its remaining contents on top of him. He could shower all over again for all she cared. Who or _what_ she slept with, and how wrecked it left the furniture, was none of his business. If she hadn't been smiling, she might have been furious. Next Stray knew, the empty box was bopping his head and leaving a dent, but he was too busy snuggling his smile deeper into the armrest to mind.

"Right. _Fuck_ dinner! Who needs dinner?" Selina flipped the box up and over her head with an exasperated sigh, as if the entire idea had been ridiculous. She then followed suit with her Kitten's sprawling, doing so in the opposite direction. His head made an excellent sparring dummy, but better footrest. Selina imitated the cheeky bastard's stretches and moans on an elevated scale before slumping across his body like a sack of potatoes. A rhythmic tapping of her foot into thin air followed, absorbing the silence a moment. Only when she and Stray had molded into a decent cat-pile did she find it time to continue speaking.

". . . Bet _you_ do after a 'bust' that bad." Selina moved her arms under her head for further support, keeping her eyes on the ceiling. She wouldn't grant Stray so much as a glance after his cute little stunt.

She had no idea. Stray wouldn't let his smile slip, however, keeping it comfortably stretched between his cheeks, soft as a . . . _kitten_. He knew her games, too, peering over a shoulder to glance across her torso. Cat-and-cat topped cat-and-mouse any day.

His head dropped back down, keeping tensions at bay with as much relaxation as he could scrounge. A jump of his shoulders sneaked in a shrug. "Wasn't _that_ bad." Yes, it was, but Selina thought otherwise.

In the time he'd cleaned himself up and pizza arrived, she managed to conjure up a silver lining or two. Stray could hear her gears turning from clear across the armchair. "Sure it was," she said, "unless you wonder, 'What the _hell_ is a museum doing, chuck full of replicas?' "

Shock and awe, he _had_ in fact wondered that very thing. Stray sat up, his interest sarcastically hers, but now _she_ was the one playing snob. Her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, watching the lazy fan blades spin. The tired old thing dispersed the cheap apartment musk at a snail pace. She knew to continue before he started barfing up questions and her patience gave out.

"Either every single piece was down for cleaning at the exact same time, or something a lot more intricate is going on than you or I realize." Now she could peek at him. Her eyes darted down her chest, crashing right into the round doe-eyes of the little boy who crawled over her doorstep all those years ago. It was nice to see him once in a while. She smirked, her neck wound tight to strangle the butterflies threatening to flutter out her gut. Damn her Stray for having grown up at all.

"You think?" Stray was all ears.

"I do."

Stray reached around his shoulder, flipping over a greasy slice that had lodged itself in his neck and pulling it into his mouth. A long chew later, he extended the remaining half to set atop her head, pressing it into her hair with an affectionate pat. "That's a first," the smart-ass smiled.

Selina immediately batted his hand away, shrieking and slapping at him again! Stray responded in kind, swatting at her fingers whenever they came too close. A playful growl trickled out of his throat as he scooted back, kicking enough to flop out of the chair and onto the floor. Nevermind the towel that didn't come along for the ride. Selina snatched it up, tossing it after him.

"No one wants to see that!" Scowling, she shot off the chair as well. Stray just chuckled, grabbing up the towel after it slapped his gut with no shred of dignity before headed to his room. This was what he lived for.

"Goodnight, Selina," he called after her, waving on his way down the skinny hall to a door ajar. His smile hadn't gone anywhere until he was safe inside, the door latched behind him.

She tried not to chuckle. "Good _riddance!_ " Fuck, she loved that boy.

Stray slumped against it, his back dragging down the wood before his butt tapped the floor. He slapped the towel across his waist before tipping his arms into his knees, his head afterward. He hadn't said a thing. He could still hear Selina shifting about. She wasn't about to toddle off to bed any time soon. There had been plenty of time to tell her what transpired at the museum between throwing dinner all over the apartment; there was time to tell her now. But who was he to interrupt their playtime, grind it into the dirt? An _idiot_ , that's who.

Stray flexed his fingertips. Sleek, black claws unsheathed from their skin, stretching themselves to prickle his knees. He pawed at them, anxious. His pupils expanded, the darkness of the bedroom unable to conceal the intensity of the act as he kneaded the skin. As if to scratch them off, one claw scraped after another in a dance of stinging pain. Jaw locked, he absorbed the stress into his being, glad to punish himself somehow where Selina had been merciful.

"I have a name. . . . I have a name." Mumbling it in the dark was no way to practice. Repeat the fact as many times as he like, all Tim could see was the gut-wrenching aftermath that would be Selina's face, if he told her. It meant admitting "Stray" was a pretense, something made up for simplicity's sake. It would mean going back to everything he swore he'd left behind—attempting to, anyway. Acceptance wasn't as easy as it sounded. Tell your parents you've wrecked their car. Tell them you've been arrested. . . . Try telling them you're inhuman.

But what was the point of getting worked up? Tim— _Stray_ —knew better than to think too far ahead. There were too many questions left unanswered. Were his parents even alive? What was the harm in knowing, either way?

Stray tipped back upright, claws receding into their sheathes. He had made the right choice. What Selina didn't know wouldn't hurt her. He should know. The fact Stray had once belonged to Batman at all was another detail stricken from the record when asked where he had come from. He had trailed Selina long enough to understand the Cat and Bat were at unusual odds, and didn't want his time with Batman killing chances with the prior. So, Stray kept his bat-time a secret. Lucky him, Selina could keep secrets, too.

Stray became the best-kept secret of Selina Kyle as soon as he moved in, she being disinterested in the inevitable, hypocritical pep-talk Batman would have on the matter. She also didn't want sour rumors floating about she had endured a pregnancy, or adopted, for Christ's sake. Pets, she could keep. Children, were questionable. Stray happened to be a happy medium.

So, Catwoman hadn't breathed a word to the Bat. Furthermore, _Batman_ hadn't bothered to prod her twisted curiosity by mentioning a missing cat-boy, or the fact he ever had one. It was a sensitive case the Bat didn't take public, perhaps under torment of personal failure. That'd be nice.

At the end of the day, all this withheld information meant, was Stray had never been with Batman and had never run off to Catwoman. Perfect. These were _not_ circumstances to question, but to take advantage of. And take, Stray did.

The question now, was whether or not Stray was ready to face the unknown himself. That meant facing Nightwing—facing _Batman_ —again. Stray shut his eyes, nuzzling into the door with the back of his head for some form of comfort. He could do it. He need only say, _when_.

The sooner, the better. Stray's eyes flickered wide to the window.

* * *

Selina wouldn't dare pick up a thing until she knew Stray was asleep. Early morning hours was when she would slink from room to room, tidying up the mess like some 50's housewife. Whatever managed to fester between the couch cushions or grow fur in the refrigerator, was quickly crammed into a garbage bag as she toted it around the apartment. Item after item, until she nearly shoved Stray's cap in the trash. Luck stayed her hand. She realized what she had done with a scoff, blaming the daylight hour with an unholy groan. It was too early for anything. Retrieving the busted cat-eared cap, she turned it over for proper inspection, blinking when something dropped out of it.

A pin? No, heavier. She stooped for the item, inspecting it as well, but with new-found intensity—fury, when she realized what it was: a tracking device. That was the bad thing about bats and birds: they didn't know subtlety if it hit 'em square in the face. The damn thing was shaped like a "V," a tiny blue light on its belly; a gift from _Nightwing_. Had to have been given close range to wriggle its way under Stray's hat. She'd pluck his damn feathers.

Selina tapped on Stray's door, feeling for the knob with a smile. They could share another laugh over floor-pizza. "Wakey-wakey, pet. Wh—"

Bed empty. Gut wound tight. Stray was gone.

The tracker broke in her fist.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 _Honestly, the first chapter had been a spontaneous scene I was craving to write. Whether or not it went anywhere, I didn't mind. Surprise, surprise, a second chapter is born! Thoughts? Who else wants to see where this goes?_


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